


What You Do Best

by wonderluck



Category: Chloe (2009)
Genre: Betrayal, F/F, International Day of Femslash, canon infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderluck/pseuds/wonderluck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catherine only wanted Chloe to tempt her husband. It turned so sudden into something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Do Best

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing _Chloe_ , I wanted to get into Catherine's head a bit more and thought eh, why the hell not?
> 
> Catherine's POV. Sort of a postmortem with a scene extension. It might go without saying, but major spoilers ahead.
> 
> Written for the International Day of Femslash and a Kink Bingo fill (tears).

Chloe was hired, that was all. She was the product and I was the consumer—money exchanged for information. 

The first time she was with him should have been all the proof I needed. Her task was complete. It should've been a kind of closure to my suspicions, confirmation that I was right all along.

But I couldn't stop. I was drawn to her and our perverse little game: How far would he take it? How absolute was his betrayal? I just couldn't let her go yet.

Her mind was sharp, an unappreciated gem. I would watch her take in a room and size up every person, cataloging observations, memorizing the mannerisms of what could be her next client. I remember how she'd done it with me: the nearly imperceptible scrutiny of a keen eye and carefully phrased questions.

Sometimes I would ask her what she saw, and it was fascinating how much she could infer from a drink order or the way a man knotted his tie. I never did ask what her impression of my husband was. I was too shortsighted, too enveloped in shock. His actions were all I was interested in.

She paced me perfectly as I upped the stakes of our game—get him to tell you more, see him sooner.

Until it wasn't enough. 

I soaked up the attention she bestowed upon me between confessions. Looking at me as if she really saw me, I hadn't known how much I'd needed it. She would casually draw out our meetings and seemed disappointed when I got up to leave, but at some point I just couldn't listen anymore. 

It turned so sudden into something else entirely.

She tried to tempt me with glimpses of her naked form and imploring kisses, even as she told me how she fucked my husband. I should have hated her, but I didn't.

I gave in.

She was too beautiful to resist. Stunning and flawless, she embodied everything I wished I could still be. I wanted to surround myself with her. The way she looked at me, like she craved me, was unlike anything I'd seen from my husband in at least a decade. 

I told myself I wanted her so that I could see for myself what he had cast aside his vows for, to share in his experience even though he was breaking my heart—my twisted approximation of a threesome. 

I nearly tore her clothes in my rush to remove them; she took her time removing mine. I didn't want to hesitate, fearing that I might change my mind at the apex of my unraveling. My eyes were wet with tears by the time she laid me on the bed.

With her hovering over me, I had a flash of stolen memory. I could see her above me as if through his eyes, his adoring eyes. When she started to touch me, it almost felt familiar, dreamlike. I felt closer to him in one breath, autonomous in the next, and back again.

Her brow furrowed with confusion as she saw the tears clinging to my lashes and reddening my eyes. She pressed a kiss to my forehead, moving her hands to cradle my face. She kissed each eyelid in turn, barely a brush of moist skin. Her lips found a tear on my cheek and one tracking toward my ear. 

I felt cherished.

"Don't cry," she said softly, and her fingers combed through my hair. She gave me a small smile and gazed at me as if I were something special. 

The tears that sprang to my eyes then were ones of relief filtering through the doubt and misery. Somehow she understood the subtle shift; perhaps she'd felt it in my skin, a full-body softening. She let me cry without another word. She watched me closely though my own eyes were unfocused, and she only moved to catch the drops on her fingertips before they fell into my hairline. 

She stroked my throat gently and beneath my chin, coaxing me to face her again. I concentrated on her eyes, perfect as a doll's and glinting with curiosity. I smiled.

I pulled her flush against me, and she hummed her approval as she kissed me. Her lips found my neck, her fingers inside me, and my body sang. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt desired. 

It was quick and heated and wonderful. I gasped my orgasm against her lips in shuddering breaths. I clung to her as I shivered until my arms grew too heavy to hold up. As my breaths slowed, she drew little patterns on my skin with her fingers and played with a lock of my hair. 

I turned and pressed her back against the pillows. Her eyes went wide as she realized I intended to reciprocate. I searched her gaze for any indication that she was acting; I only saw how much she wanted me. 

I had to touch her, wanted nothing more than to feel her, warm and supple under my hands. She exuded a light that I coveted—touching her got me closer to it and her need for me deemed me worthy.

I asked her what she wanted. She beamed at me before taking my head in her hands and kissing me hard. She smelled of springtime flowers and tasted like youth.

She was soft, so soft. Her breasts fit my hands, and I touched her there until she caught her bottom lip between her gleaming teeth. Every kiss I pressed against her as I trailed down her body made her muscles twitch. I kissed her hip and felt more confident than I had in a long time. With my mouth between her thighs, her back bowed. 

I took my time with her. I would only do this once.

She brushed her fingers against my cheek, and I looked up to see her gazing at me intently. She was propped up on her elbows, and I could tell she'd been watching me for some time. 

Her head fell back on her shoulders as she started to spasm, but she righted it with effort to look at me again. I watched her face as she came. 

She pulled at my arms insistently until I slid up beside her. She didn't hesitate before devouring my mouth.

I trusted her as she maneuvered me up onto my knees and placed my hands on the headboard. She asked me to stay that way. I didn't consider moving. I heard her lie down behind me, the sheets rustling as she slipped beneath me until the top of her head came into sight. Her eyes weren't playful this time—they burned, all for me. 

I felt a flicker of vulnerability prickle along my skin and thought to deny her, but then her mouth was on me, delicate hands resting on the small of my back. I was overcome. I had to lay my head against my hands, squeezing my eyes shut and panting for all I was worth. 

I shook fiercely as my body electrified. Her hands found mine, lacing them together, and I grasped them hard until the blood left our fingers. My head fell forward, and I could see her looking up at me, smiling even though I could not see her lips. When the last tremor jolted through me, I breathed deeply and smiled back.

I collapsed sideways onto the bed. She'd broken me open, and tears burned behind my eyelids again. She gathered me into her arms and told me to sleep.

For a moment, just a fleeting moment, I loved her. As my eyes slid closed, I thought perhaps I could keep her for myself.

I never heard the shutter of her camera. 

I never sensed her deceit. 

If only lies left a physical imprint—the acid from Chloe's falsehoods marring the perfect teeth they passed through—I would have known. 

I was a fool.


End file.
